Tact
by sawruhr
Summary: Two werewolves, a vampire, and a supermarket aisle; Adam, Christa, Tom


**Takes place after episode 3 of Becoming Human and episode 4 of Being Human. I'm American, keep that in mind when judging my nub attempt at British slang. The rating is T but there are a few dirty words slipped in there by Adam.  
**

**:::  
**

Adam's never considered himself a man with tact.

Most people would be terribly embarrassed if someone pointed out such a flaw, let alone acknowledge it themselves, but Adam was absolutely fine with it.

So, when he caught whiff of something_ werewolf _in the supermarket a few blocks from school, he didn't hesitate to tease his companion on the afterschool shopping trip.

"Looks like your type of boytoy, eh?" He gestures with his head down the quiet aisle, at a young looking man with scars running down the back of his shaven head. He is holding two different brands of razors, large eyes wavering between the products in comparison. Christa glances up at Adam, hands sifting through the counters for the cheapest hand soap.

"What are you going on about?" She uses that voice, the one she reserves for all the silly things Adam tends to say.

Adam smiles, just a bit, and leans closer.

"He's kinda hairy too, ya know, like you?" Christa stops her sifting and turns to stare at him, perhaps wondering why she allowed him to tag along with her for afternoon shopping.

"I'm not a werewolf," she deadpans, dark eyes looking right into his own. Adam was quite tired of her denial. What was it with werewolves and their moping (not that he's met much werewolves, but _still_)? They were lucky, they got some time off—vampires didn't. Adam raises an eyebrow.

"You gotta stop with that _sweetheart_. I know werewolf and you and him," he pauses to point at the man still weighing the razors, "are definitely werewolf."

Maybe he spoke a little too loud, added a little too much inflection to his words (or maybe it was that _oh so special_ werewolf hearing), but the bloke down the aisle looked up, catching Adam's eye and then Christa's. They all stare at one another, that elevator music they always play over the loudspeaker barely noticeable in the neat white aisle.

Adam smells the werewolf blood, the blood that made him cringe and crinkle his nose before he got use to it. They were damn beacons, Christa and that bloke. Any vampire could come along and rip their thin werewolf necks out, just to see all that pretty red (so damn _red_) rush out, fly out, making such a mess.

He doesn't know why, but suddenly he's going, "Hey, Digby!"

He raises his hand, all casual like, and the werewolf glances over his shoulder, then at Adam, then back over his shoulder, as if there were people all around him and Adam was talking to one of them. Adam feels Christa's eyes on him, almost hears her heart beating quicker, alive, alive.

Realizing they are alone in the aisle, the man steps a bit closer, the two razor packages still in his hands.

"Are you talking to me?" He sounds so damn innocent, like some 16 year old kid, like Adam fucking was (_is)_.

"He wasn't," spouts out Christa, shaking her head and casually waving it off, like they didn't even notice he was there in their little conversation.

"I was." He turns away from the hand soaps to fully face the 16 year old sounding man (boy, he's like a boy). The man stares at him with wide eyes—he's not surprised, his eyes are just naturally wide and doe-like and trustful_._ _He's like a damn 16 year old boy_. He's the type the vampires would get.

(Just like the one who got Adam, poor, little Adam.)

"See," Adam steps closer. He's not afraid. Werewolves don't scare him, not much things do (except perverted vampires and shit like that; and Mitchell—but Mitchell scares everyone). "My friend here is a werewolf, but is way up the Nile, if you know what I mean." He doesn't consider that this man-boy can rip pretty little 16 year old Christa in half, or touch her and feel her in ways he can't. He rarely thinks before he speaks. The man's eyes widen, and Adam sees Christa's reflection in them—it's almost like the werewolf is looking past his dead, soulless body at the very alive Christa.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a fucking werewolf, mate. Don't tell me the lot of you have decided to just up and forget." He thinks about Nina and George and how Nina is always so snarky and George so doe-eyed and boylike.

If possible, the man's eyes widen even more; he reminds Adam of a deer in headlights.

"How do you know that?" His voice is significantly hushed when he asks, glancing at Christa, who had her own deer expression, before back to Adam. The student shrugs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"You smell like shit, for one thing. And by that I mean like werewolf blood shit, not 'I haven't taken a shower in two weeks' shit," he explains, nodding his head knowingly. The man nearly steps back, the razors hanging limp in his hands.

"You're a vampire," he states, still quiet but firm. When Adam doesn't deny it, and Christa moves forward to correct the situation (because there was something definitely _wrong _about what was going on), the man's expression hardens, his doe eyes no longer large and confused, but rather narrowed and sure.

"Is he hurting you?" He's looking at Christa, directing his question to the girl behind the vampire. She looks momentarily startled, maybe because he is suddenly addressing her.

"What? What are you talking about?" She has a feeling, one that is starting to make her queasy, and all she wants to do is run home and hide under her blankets and pretend she's _human_.

"He said you're a werewolf too. He's a vampire. Is he hurting you, keeping you as a pet or something?" Adam can't help but break out into a grin at the man's incorrect assumption, and behind him Christa looks horribly offended.

"Of course not! And I'm not a werewolf." She moves to grab Adam's arm and drag him out of the aisle with her. He doesn't resist, but he doesn't really go willingly, giving the man an amused smirk as Christa forcefully starts dragging him along.

"Wait!" The other werewolf is standing there when they look over their shoulders, razor packages still clutched in his hands, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something.

"I-" He doesn't know what to say, or if anything needs to be said. "I've only met one other werewolf girl before. And most vampires have tried to kill me. "

"That happens," comments Adam.

"You're really a werewolf?" Christa sounds defeated, letting go of Adam's arm as she stares at the man. He nods. There is a moment of silence, and suddenly Adam feels like a third wheel, eying both of the werewolves as they stare at one another.

"Well." The two break eye contact. He feels like he just interrupted an intimate moment. "We should get going." He gestures with a thumb over his shoulder, now not so interested in teasing Christa or any of that bullshit 16 year old stuff he does. It feels stupid. He feels stupid.

"What's your name?" asks the man, as if he hadn't heard Adam. All his attention is on Christa.

She hesitates. "Christa." A pause. "You?"

"Tom." It's so normal. Like Adam.

No. Not like Adam.

Because Adam isn't fucking doe-eyed, or innocent, or even really 16. And sometimes, he desperately wishes he was because he's so damn tired of being _hungry _and he just misses his mum and dad and _why is he not a man of tact?_

**:::**

**Becoming Human needs some love too folks. This is a oneshot I suppose, but I would really love to see Tom interact with the entire trio, especially since McNair's not handling him with child gloves any longer. And is it just me or is Tom _adorable_. Less Mitchell angst, more Tom please.  
**


End file.
